


Side A (Smile For The Camera)

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Stilinski Family Feels, background Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura - Freeform, excess use of home movies, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 13:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14426394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: There are helicopter parents and PTA parents, stage parents and soccer parents, deadbeat parents and overbearing parents.And then there are home movie parents.Stiles is a home movie parent.





	Side A (Smile For The Camera)

**Author's Note:**

> believe it or not, this started with a _happy_ idea. a sweet silly kidfic idea. of course, in usual me fashion, i made it angsty. yes, Stiles is definitely 100% a shutterbug around his kid, but why, i ask you, _why?_
> 
> this is why. so here's a mix of cute kid stuff and agonizing emotion because that's just how i roll.
> 
> (written in a few hours, not beta read at all, i'll probably retroactively edit it at some point like i usually do my oneshots)

There are helicopter parents and PTA parents, stage parents and soccer parents, deadbeat parents and overbearing parents.

And then there are home movie parents.

Stiles was a home movie parent.

Jackson would swear that he hadn’t seen his husband without a camera in hand since the day their son was born. Stiles was in the delivery room with their surrogate, jostling the damn doctors out of the way to get a good angle as their little boy came into the world, until they threatened to kick him out if he didn’t knock it off.

The following eleven months were much the same. Every single tiny thing that baby Henry did, Stiles was right there with that camera. And if Stiles wanted to actually interact with his baby directly? He made sure to pass the camera off to Jackson or Scott or his dad first, all the better to make _absolutely sure_ that they didn’t miss a second.

By now the baby’s nursery had an entire toy chest full of little cassette tapes, neatly labeled with the date, and Stiles’ laptop (and cloud backup, and external hard drive) had all the same videos stored digitally.

It. Was. _Ridiculous._

It wasn’t like Jackson didn’t understand the impulse to an extent. Henry was very cute and very photogenic—both of which he got from Jackson, thank you—but there had to be a limit somewhere! Most parents broke out the cameras on birthdays, special occasions, various firsts and achievements. They didn’t try to record every mundane second of every day.

Jackson was honestly waiting for the day Stiles came home from the store with one of those little POV cameras to wear on a strap around his forehead, and that day might just be the day he filed for divorce.

Okay, not really. He loved Stiles with every fiber of his being, both despite and because of how long it took them to get to where they are, and he would never give that up because of one annoying habit.

One _supremely_ annoying and inconvenient habit.

At least now he had a bit of a reprieve. When Scott and Kira were over, Stiles always ended up in the kitchen with Kira—because she was a blessing of a person who would play decoy and run interference without even being asked—for at least half an hour before realizing that he’d left the baby unfilmed.

The baby in question was currently giggling uproariously at the funny noises Scott made, spit bubbles out in full force. His hands waved back and forth in the air, looking for something to grab onto, and ended up whacking Scott in the face.

Jackson muffled his laugh in his hand, but he needn’t have bothered because clearly Scott thought getting slapped by a baby was the best thing in the world.

“Did you do that?” he gasped. “Did _you_ do that?? Oh, you’re getting so strong! Strong little werewolf man!”

Henry squealed in delight, legs kicking randomly.

“Go ahead and stand him up,” Jackson said. “He only kicks like that when he wants to bounce. Don’t put him on your lap, though. Strong little werewolf man will stomp on your nuts and it’s not fun.”

Scott grimaced. Then he leaned back against the foot of the couch next to Jackson’s armchair and hoisted Henry off the floor by the arms with an exaggerated groan. It took a minute for Henry to get his inexperienced feet under him, but as soon as he managed that he was bouncing away with the biggest smile on his round little face.

It was fucking adorable and Jackson was hard pressed not to melt into a pile of fucking proud papa goo right there in his living room. He would save that for when he and Stiles were alone and there was no one else to see him so undignified. Although, from the sideways look and smirk that Scott was sending him, his chemosignals were giving him away.

Oh well. Scott would have plenty of moments like this himself once Kira delivered, and then turnaround would be fair play. For now Jackson focused on his little boy’s infectious enthusiasm, the way his pale eyes sparkled against his bio mother’s darker skin tone, the tiny dimples pressed into his round cheeks by the force of his toothy grin. He manfully resisted cooing but couldn’t stop himself from waving when Henry abandoned Scott’s funny noises to turn and look at him instead.

“Hey, champ,” Jackson said gamely.

Henry babbled and tried to reach out for him, which didn’t work very well considering Scott still had a hold of his hands. Scott obediently let go of one hand but Henry kept tugging. At a nod from Jackson, he transferred his grip from hands to hips to see what would happen.

Surprisingly, Henry didn’t keel over. He wobbled a bit, but ultimately remained standing, and Jackson met Scott’s eyes over his head as both of their heartbeats picked up. Jackson leaned forward and held out his hands to his son.

“You wanna come see daddy?” he asked and Henry’s face lit up. He made grabby hands in Jackson’s direction, leaning forward into Scott’s hold on him. He stamped his feet against the carpet like a bull getting ready to charge.

“Stiles,” Scott called. “Hey, Stiles, come in here for a sec.”

Jackson heard a very put-upon sigh and bit his lip to keep from laughing. His husband rounded the corner from the kitchen saying, “But we’re not done with the three-cheese dip yet!” Kira at Stiles’ back pulled a face and shrugged, silently admitting that she’d been stalling as best she could, but both of them stopped in their tracks when Scott let go of Henry completely.

He didn’t fall. He wobbled, he staggered, he waved his arms like a windmill, but he didn’t fall down, not even when he picked one foot up and stomped it back down.

“Oh, he’s gonna do it!” Kira whispered. “Stiles, he’s gonna do it!”

There was a slapping noise that was probably her hitting Stiles’ in the arm to make sure he was paying attention, but Jackson couldn’t look away to verify. Henry was walking—actually _walking_ —in his direction all on his own, completely unsupported, and this was such a fucking _moment._ It was one of those milestones that every parent waited for with equal parts eagerness and dread because it meant their child was growing up and all Jackson could do was hold out his arms and wait for Henry to stagger into them.

Scott cheered and Kira squealed and Stiles’ let out a breathless, “Oh god, he actually did it.” Jackson just scooped Henry up in his arms and hugged him as close as possible, crushing the squirming kid to his chest and pressing kiss after kiss to his little fuzzy head. For a minute Henry was the only thing in the whole world that mattered.

Then—

“ _No, wait, put him back._ ”

There was a scuffle and a thump and Stiles was suddenly right there with the camera in his hand, nearly tripping over Scott in his haste.

“Put him back,” he repeated. “I wasn’t filming! Make him do it again!”

Irritation flared up before Jackson could smother it. By now it was a practically a reflex response where that damn camera was concerned. But Stiles had that pleading face on that Jackson could never say no to, and a baby’s first step was actually the kind of thing parents usually dove for a camera over, so Jackson swallowed his sigh and relinquished his hold on Henry.

However, Henry seemed to have decided that he was done walking for the day. He slid down the line of Jackson’s shins to plop on the floor and stayed right there, one hand slapping at the carpet and the other in his mouth. He caught sight of the camera in his papa’s hand and waved.

“No, no, sweetie,” Stiles said. “Do the other thing again.”

With the hand not holding the camera, Stiles took hold of Henry’s and hoisted him off the ground. Henry shrieked with laughter but refused to put his feet down, enjoying the fun new up-and-down game.

“Henry, kiddo, work with me here. C’mon, do the walking thing.”

Stiles finally got Henry’s feet under him. And Henry immediately plopped back on his bottom. He tipped himself over onto his side and started crawling toward the pile of toys on the other side of the living room.

“I don’t think he’s up for it, buddy,” Scott said with a shrug.

Stiles ignored him. He stepped over Scott to intercept Henry’s quest for toys, snagging him around the middle and hauled him back. He tried to again to wrangle Henry into an upright position one-handed, only this time Henry was much less cooperative. He didn’t seem to like this game nearly as much, despite Stiles’ encouraging noises, and he was starting to get red in the face.

“Just let him play,” Jackson said. “You’ll get it next time.”

“Next time isn’t— Hey, kiddo, look at me. C’mon, you just did it, you can do it again!”

But Henry wasn’t looking at him. Henry was screwing up his face and trying to get away, and that was not okay. Judging by the stricken looks on Scott and Kira’s faces, Jackson wasn’t the only one to think so.

“Stiles, you’re upsetting him,” Kira tried one last time. “Maybe you should just let this go.”

“ _No,_ I just—”

Jackson didn’t let him finish. Henry let out a plaintive wail and Jackson snatched the camera out of Stiles’ hand. Ignoring Stiles’ stuttered complaint, he shoved it into Kira’s hand and dragged his husband into the hallway, away from where Scott was hurriedly shushing the distraught baby.

Once out of sightline, Jackson pushed Stiles against the wall and pinned him there.

“What the _hell_ was that?”

“I gotta get back in there,” Stiles said, but Jackson just held him down more firmly.

Jackson shook his head, unbelieving. “You are not going in there until you tell me what just happened, because that was over the line.”

Stiles had always had something of a forceful personality, but he was also an absolutely _doting_ father. A little overbearing sometimes, admittedly, but he had never been anything but gentle and considerate of that little boy even when he was exhausted and ready to tear his hair out.

Jackson would’ve thought he’d be over the moon about Henry’s first steps, without or without the camera. But Stiles was reeking of anxiety and Jackson just didn’t understand.

“You made him _cry,_ ” Jackson said, just in case that hadn’t registered in Stiles’ head yet. “I’ve always indulged you on the obsessive home movies because they make you happy and I like making you happy, but you made our son cry, Stiles. Is a home movie really worth that?”

“But I missed it.” Stiles wrapped long fingers around Jackson’s wrist, not trying to free himself, just holding on. “His first steps, Jackson! Our baby’s first steps and I _missed_ it!”

Jackson shook his head. “What are you talking about? Stiles, honey, you were right there. You watched it happen.”

“No! Well, yes, but that’s not the same. That’s not—” Stiles’ eyes were red, his chest heaving under Jackson’s hand, and his grip on Jackson’s wrist was tight enough to be painful. “That memory is only in our brains now. Do you get that? A memory that important, and the only place it exists is in our brains.”

Frustration winning out, Jackson snapped, “Believe it or not, that’s actually where most memories are. Why do you say that like it’s something terrible?”

“Because brains are _fallible._ ”

The shout stunned Jackson enough that Stiles could push him away. He dragged the back of his hand under his nose, sniffing, but he didn’t make a break for the living room. Instead he just stared at Jackson like Jackson was staring at him, jittery like a trapped animal.

“Brains are—” he started, cutting himself off with a hard swallow and a rush of chemosignals that made Jackson’s chest hurt from the strength of them. “They don’t always work right, okay? Brains screw up sometimes. They screw up, they fall apart, they _lose_ things. And I don’t want to—”

His words were choked off by the first of his tears and all of Jackson’s anger evaporated between one heartbeat and the next.

“I don’t want to lose any of this,” Stiles said as evenly as he could manage, fighting so hard to keep a hold on what was left of his composure, but it was no good. Jackson had seen more than enough of his husband’s anxiety to know that once it crested like this, there was no stopping it, and that holding it in only made it worse. And Stiles had been sitting on this quiet panic for months.

“Stiles, honey.”

Jackson reached out, but Stiles stopped him, wiping angrily at his tears like that would erase the fact that they’d already started falling.

“Tell me that you get that,” he said, desperate and raw. “Just tell me that you get it, because I can’t take that risk. Okay? I _can’t—_ ”

Jackson looked at him sadly, outstretched hand hovering between them. “You can’t forget him. Like your mom forgot you.”

Stiles’ stubbornly stoic face crumpled and Jackson closed the distance before he could protest. He wrapped his husband up in his arms, feeling the shudder of his chest as sobs fought their way out, and buried his nose in Stiles’ hair. He didn’t bother with words yet, just held him tight and shushed him softly, letting the warmth and closeness do what words were never enough for.

Through the wall at their backs, he could hear Kira and Scott murmuring to each other. Probably trying to pretend they couldn’t hear every word of Stiles’ meltdown, because they were polite that way. At least Henry was making happy noises again, accompanied by the clacking sound of his favorite blocks getting knocked over.

Stiles’ arms tightened around Jackson’s waist. He squeezed back, but he didn’t relinquish his hold. He wasn’t going to let go until Stiles let go, and Stiles didn’t seem ready for that yet.

“She didn’t even recognize me.”

The words were muffled in Jackson’s shoulders, but he had no trouble making them out. He sort of wished he couldn’t; they were almost as heartbreaking as the thin, fragile tone of Stiles’ voice when he said them.

“By the end, she didn’t even know who I was anymore,” he went on. “All that time— _ten years’ worth_ of memories. My entire childhood, just _gone._ And there was nothing we could do to stop it. It didn’t matter how much she loved me or that I was her only son. I was nothing to her by then.”

Jackson couldn’t help the shudder that wracked him. The mere thought of forgetting his baby boy made his stomach turn sour. It shouldn’t be possible. A parent’s love for their child was supposed to be this untouchable, unbreakable, all-powerful thing. It was damn scary to know that there was something out there that was stronger, that sometimes it simply didn’t matter how much you loved them.

“That’s not gonna happen to you,” Jackson said, rough words buried in Stiles’ hair because he couldn’t bring himself to move away.

“But it could. It _might,_ and I don’t know if I can—”

“No, Stiles, listen to me.” Jackson finally let go, pulling back just enough to make sure that Stiles looked him in the eye. “I am not going to let that happen. I know Scott’s said it before, and I’ll say it again: we’ll do something.”

Stiles stared at him, eyes wide and red and glassy. He looked a damn mess, and Jackson couldn’t have cared less about that if he’d tried because this was his husband, the father of his child, and he loved them both so desperately he couldn’t stand it sometimes. He cradled Stiles’ face in his hands, the skin warm and tear-damp against his palms, and pressed their foreheads together.

“Do you hear me, Stiles? If there’s even the slightest hint, we’ll _do_ something.”

Stiles’ whisper ghosted across his lips. “Promise?”

“You bet your ass I promise.”

Stiles’ weak chuckle surprised them both. Stiles attempted a smile then, shaky but valiant in its effort, and shook off Jackson’s hands so he could scrub away the evidence of his cry. Jackson let him. Through the wall, he heard Scott: “Don’t you worry, little dude. Your papa’s gonna be just fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

“So. Think Henry’s gonna be mad at me?” Stiles asked, shooting a nervous look at the door to the living room.

Jackson snorted. “I think Henry’s already forgotten all about it. You can probably make it up to him with some granola and a juice box.”

Stiles made a face. “Granola’s such a mess though! He always throws it all over the—” He caught sight of Jackson’s raised eyebrow and quickly changed directions. “And I deserve that for being a dick. Got it. Granola on the way.”

Jackson snagged Stiles’ hand as he passed, pulling him up short before he reached the kitchen so that he could drop a kiss on his lips. It was soft, and it lingered, and it soothed some ragged edge in him. By the way Stiles’ shoulders dropped, it did the same for him.

“Henry loves you,” Jackson told him, no room for doubt. “He will always love you. Almost as much as I do.”

Stiles shook his head with a little quirk of a smile on his face. “But never quite as much as I love you. Both of you.”

“That’s debatable.” Jackson kissed him again because there was nothing else he would rather do. Then he pinched his ass just because he could. “Now you go get that mess in the making, and I’ll get the camera.”

The look Stiles gave him then was equal parts surprised and painfully hopeful. “You will?”

“You with granola in your hair is a memory worth filming.”

Stiles flicked him in the ear. “You dick,” he said around a laugh, darting into the kitchen before Jackson could retaliate. Not that he wanted to.

“I love you,” Jackson called out instead.

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, jerk.”

Kira held the camera out to him as he re-entered the living room, a hopeful smile on her face that Jackson returned. He shared a heavy look with Scott that was full of words neither of them needed to say, interrupted by Henry batting at Scott’s shin to get his attention.

As Stiles blustered back in with an armful of tupperware granola and apple juice, Jackson retreated to lean against the door jamb and pressed record. He watched the way Stiles’ already expressive face lit up like a sunrise when Henry smiled at him, the way his whole world was taken up by that little boy, the way nothing else mattered in that moment.

Yeah, this was worth filming.


End file.
